


Stay

by MachinationKZ



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pining, mention of anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-08 00:09:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15231060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachinationKZ/pseuds/MachinationKZ
Summary: Malfoy wants to. But also not.





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> I had an idea floating around my head, and a spare hour of time. No real spell or grammar checking was done, sorry!

So here I am again, walking through the quiet, dark halls of Hogwarts just past midnight. For the ninth time I am following the exact same route. For the ninth time there's this feeling of excitement and fear in my gut. For the ninth time my heart is beating loudly in my chest as I round the corners. It's almost become a ritual. Every step known, predictable, leading to the next. And in the end, I will disappoint him. For the ninth time.

\------------------------------------------------------

It had started out pretty innocently, honestly. I dreaded coming back to Hogwarts. Dreaded facing all the people I'd hurt, betrayed. But from day one, he was _nice_ to me. Like I never tried to kill him, or hurt him, or harmed his friends. And somehow, him being nice to me more than made up for any others pointing at me behind my back.

Maybe it was McGonagall's doing. Maybe Granger's. I even thought maybe he was acting like this so when it inevitably turned around, it would hurt more. But that never happened. As days turned into weeks turned into months I had to accept that there was no façade, no mask, no act.

The little things he did for me confused me. He would ask if I needed any of his notes – I never did. He would ask how things were at home – 'just fine, thanks'.  He would glare angrily at the first years that would stare at me – disgust, mistrust, awe on their faces. But most of all he would just _be_ there. Little smiles in the great hall, nods when passing each other in the corridors.

It changed over Christmas holiday. Most of the students were gone, staying with family. I didn't much fancy being stuck with a father under house arrest and a practically grieving mother. I knew he was still here as well, although I'm not quite sure why. The Weasleys no doubt would have loved to have him around. 

But still, he was here. Sat in a large, comfortable-looking chair in the library, the shadows of the fire in the fireplace next to him dancing over his face. Clad in a ridiculous looking gaudy Christmas sweater, adorned with a bright golden H. He looked lost, lonely, incomplete. Or maybe he looked completely normal, and I just saw what I wanted to see. When he looked up at me, he smiled, as usual. But also not.

Normally his smile would be short, powerful, happy. Like he was surprised I was still around. This time there was more though. There was a passion behind it. A bit of lust, maybe. And some sadness, definitely. He got up, made the book he was reading hover back onto the shelf with a flick of his hand, and headed out. 

"Good night, Draco."

I told him good night in response and headed back to bed myself.

\-------------------------------------------------------

The eight years' dorms had pretty much just appeared at the start of the year, and even though inter-house friendship seemed to be the main theme of McGonnagall's speech, they were stil seperated by house. Slytherin's rooms had appeared just before the normal entrance to our common room, a long row of doors leading to single bedrooms. Hogwarts had thought it wise to give the eight years a bit more privacy, and I inclined to agree. One of the most common topics at the breakfast tables were the nightmares most all of us had nearly every night. 

I was halfway down the dungeons when something made me turn around. Maybe it was the memory of that smile he had given me, maybe it was an unwillingness to sleep, knowing the nightmares would no doubt be back. Whatever it was, fifteen minutes later I rounded the corner to where I assumed the Gryffindor dormitories to be.

And there he was. Standing outside the door to his room, looking like he had tried to sleep but couldn't. Gone was the Christmas sweater, replaced by a long, ill-fitting black t-shirt. Underneath it a pair of grey sweatpants that looked as old and used as Hogwarts itself. His hair was a mess – moreso than usual – and his glasses were nowhere in sight.

It was in that moment that something switched. Clicked. He had gone from dick to fine to friendly over the course of the half year, and now in two seconds it went to _more_. I wanted to know what he looked like under those baggy clothes. What he would be like in bed. What it would be like to moan his name. What it would be like to wake up next to him.

I walked up to him, unsure what to do.

"Potter."

My voice came weak, feeble, vulnerable. The opposite of what I wanted to project right now. It seemed to be enough though. It seemed to turn me from a vision, a shimmer, a ghost into an actual tangible human being to him.

"Draco."

And that was all it took. It may as well have been an Imperius, that's how strong it was. In seconds, we were all over each other. A minute later, we had stumbled into his room, onto his bed. Exploring each other's mouths, each other's bodies. Another five minutes later and I was under him, screaming his name into his pillow as he pounded into me.

Twenty minutes later, the wordless plea was clear in his eyes: 'stay'. But I couldn't. I didn't trust myself to not screw this up. I didn't trust I could deal with his friends. Or him. Or my friends.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Come morning, nothing had changed. He was Potter, I was Draco. We were decent to each other, friendly even, and that was that. But underneath, I could see it in his eyes still. And inside myself, I could feel the desire burning. It took a week for my resolve to crumble that time. And a week after that.

By the fourth week, it wasn't quite as fiery and rough any more. It had become slower, more loving, more tender. Sometimes I would take him, sometimes he would take me. And afterwards, we would stay tangled up in his bed for longer and longer, his heat and his smell intoxicating. I also started noticing that every night after it was 'our night' – as I had so cheesily started to think about it in my head – I would sleep the entire night through. No nightmares, no dreams, no memories.

And that made it so much harder when, after the fifth time, he actually asked me. It wasn't just his eyes this time, it wasn't just his body, or his arms around me. It was actually _him_ asking me.   
   
"Draco, please. Stay."

I wanted to tell him that there was nothing I wanted more. That I wanted to stay in his bed and in his arms until it hurt. That I needed him like water or food or air. That he made me feel like l meant something to someone.

But I didn't. I looked at him and kissed him. I got my things and left. I whispered, as I left his room, although I wasn't sure he heard me.

"Sorry."

\------------------------------------------------------

So yes. It's been a while. Things have happened. Eight things have happened, to be exact, and the ninth is about to happen. This time, though. This time I will be strong for him – for me – for us. This time I will stay. I will prove that he's more to me than just his body. More than just comfort.

I curse myself as I walk back to the dungeons. I curse myself as I lie down in bed. I curse myself as, for the entire night, I cannot sleep. His eyes haunt me. His expression of utter hurt haunts me. I've pushed and pushed, and taken so much from him without giving back. Maybe I am what they say I am. Maybe I am beyond redemption. Maybe I am weak and spineless and a push over.

Come morning, I stop cursing myself. It's probably lack of sleep, but I've found some sort of courage. I think.

The Great Hall is full. Squeezing an extra year in has made the giant tables and benches seem not quite giant enough, and I struggle to find him in the crowd. I can see Weasley stuffing himself with bacon and sausage, next to Granger who seems to be trying to teach her cornflakes to sail on her milk. He _has_ to be near them.

I carefully walk over, some of the Gryffindors giving me odd glances. When I get nearer, I see Potter sitting across Weasley, and it's clear why I had trouble spotting him before. His arms are crossed on the table in front of him, his head resting uncomfortably on top. He looks like a crumpled piece of parchment, discarded without thought. Apparently he had some trouble sleeping as well.

With a soft "Please" and a pleading look, the Gryffindor sitting next to Potter scoots over, leaving me a small space to squeeze into. Potter doesn't react. Weasley, on the other hand, looks at me like I've just insulted his mother, and I'm convinced the only reason he is not shouting is because his mouth is still filled with bacon. There's a tiny yelp from him at the same time I see Granger's elbow moving sharply into his side. All she does is nod at me, before going back to her cornflake-project.

I take a deep breath and gently put a hand on Potter's knee. He stirs before turning his head sideways, meeting my eyes. Startled, he sits up, his brow raised.

"What are you doing here, Draco."

Dozens of responses run through my head in a split second, ranging from "Having breakfast, numbnuts." To "Enjoying the view.". I settle on something a bit more sensible.

"I'm staying."

He rubs the sleep from his eyes, seemingly confused at what I had figured to be a pretty straight forward answer.

"Yeah but what are you actually _doing_ here."

His confusion is almost cute, were it not for the fact I now have to say the hardest thing I've ever said in my life again.

"Potter, listen." I accentuate my words with a squeeze to his knee " _I am staying_."

For a split second I fear I have to say it a third time. Or, god forbid, explain it. But then he breaks into the biggest, dumbest, goofiest smile I've ever seen. He looks at me like I gave him the greatest gift possible. He looks at me like I _am_ the greatest gift possible. He looks at me like he cannot believe what he is seeing. And I can't help myself. Despite all these people, despite the rumours and the problems and the drama it will no doubt cause... I lean over and press a kiss to his lips. And then I whisper.

"I'm staying."


End file.
